


brain fish

by iceblinks



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: "water is just thin bread dough" -bokuto koutarou, (i was today years old when i learned identity porn didn’t mean actual porn so), (that doesn’t mean actual porn btw this is only rated t for swearing), Identity Porn, M/M, Second Year Bokuto Koutarou, Texting, Wrong Number AU, akaashi and onaga are both first years here, akaashi: not now gay thoughts, fukurodani volleyball team - Freeform, it's literally just about bokuto getting an ugly fish lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceblinks/pseuds/iceblinks
Summary: Akaashi wakes up to a string of texts from an unknown number.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 53
Kudos: 357





	1. frogs have feelings too, kuroo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 03:19: ayo kuroo
> 
> 03:19: do u think frogs have feelings

Akaashi has never been a morning person. Something to do with the harsh light and cool air (he’s always run cold) and the exhaustion that clouds his thoughts. It always takes him a few moments to blink himself conscious. 

His alarm beeps threateningly and he reaches for his nightstand and slams his hand down over his phone, tapping blindly around for the snooze button. When it finally stops blaring, he sinks back into his pillows and throws a hand over his eyes.

Not two minutes later, it starts beeping again. 

“Shut _up,”_ he growls, pulling his pillow over his head. He’d gone to bed late last night, too nervous to fall asleep as quickly as he usually did. 

Nervous. 

_Shit._

School. His first day. Fukurodani Academy. 

Akaashi sits up ramrod-straight, suddenly wide awake. His first day. How could he have forgotten, even for a second? He’d specifically set his alarm earlier than usual, intending to get to school early and introduce himself to his teacher. 

He reaches for his phone, eyes still blurry with sleep as he presses _stop._ The screen clears, and that’s when he sees the texts. 

**03:19:** ayo kuroo

 **03:19:** do u think frogs have feelings

 **03:19:** i think i rly want a pet frog

 **03:20:** r they a lot of work to take care of tho?? cuz idk if i got time for that bro

 **03:20:** mayhaps a fish

 **03:20:** ughhh frogs r so cute tho

 **03:20:** if they have feelings theyd better be LOVE bc i love them :3

 **03:20:** if i was a frog id have all the feelings

 **03:20:** maybe ill b a frog in a next life or smth

 **03:20:** ikik i said i wanted to be an owl before but like...have u SEEN frogs?? 

**03:20:** kindred spirits man

 **03:23:** bro ur not responding?? i see how it is :((

 **03:25:** why u gotta b like that bro :(( ur makign me sad

 **02:25:** frogs have feelings too kuroo why u gotta do me like that

 **03:26:** oh well gn then ig 

People don’t usually text Akaashi, especially not in the middle of the night. He doesn’t recognize the number. He blinks hard and squints down at his notifications, rereading the string of texts he’d received at...nearly three-thirty in the morning? Who in their right mind would be awake at three in the morning? 

It must be an accident. He isn’t Kuroo, whoever that is. A wrong number. Probably mistyped, a number neighbor of some sort. Who texts someone at three-thirty in the morning to talk about pets, anyway? 

He unlocks his phone and opens his messages. The texts sit there innocently as if they aren’t the weirdest messages he’s probably ever received. Akaashi leans against his headboard, staring at the blinking cursor. How is one even supposed to respond to a slew of ramblings about fish and frogs?

**> >06:44:** hi. sorry, i think you have the wrong number. my name isn’t kuroo

Akaashi stares at the blue text bubble for a moment longer before setting his phone back on his nightstand and getting quickly out of bed. He’s already late getting up; arriving at school late a week after his first day will definitely not earn him any favors with his teachers. 

He takes a quick shower and heads downstairs for breakfast. Nobody’s up except for his mother, who greets him sleepily from her position beside the coffeepot.

“Sleep well?”

“Fine.”

She nods, gaze sleepy and unfocused, and taps the coffeepot. “Want any? It’s almost ready.”

“Probably not, I’ve gotta hurry. Thanks, though.”

His phone buzzes against his thigh as he’s spooning miso into a bowl. He ignores it, grabbing a container of leftover rice from the refrigerator. His phone buzzes again as he pulls the lid off, and he sighs. Probably the wrong number person again.

“You should get that,” his mom says.

**06:50:** r u kidding m e

 **06:50:** this is super embarrassing ughh my bad

 **06:50:** new phone lol contacts didn’t sync

 **06:50:** had to put in everything manually im still not done

 **06:50:** mustve typed his number in wrong ahaha FUCK

Akaashi takes his miso to the dining room and texts back with one hand, mildly surprised at the other person’s informality. 

**> >06:51:** no worries

 **> >06:51:** good luck with the rest of your contacts 

He assumes that’ll be the end of it—his last text definitely has an air of finality. He shuts off his phone and finishes his miso in silence. 

“First day,” his mom says when he takes the bowl back to the kitchen. She looks a little more alert now, clutching her coffee mug tightly to her chest. “You excited?”

“I guess.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

“It’s okay. I can walk.”

She smiles a little and reaches over to ruffle his hair. “My little Keiji-chan, all grown up. I can’t believe it.”

 _“Mom,”_ he says, embarrassed. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to get it to lie flat again. 

“Have a good day, okay?” She hands him a bento after he dries his hands on the dishtowel. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“I don’t _get into trouble,”_ he mutters, but takes the bento anyway. His phone buzzes as he’s leaving the kitchen.

“Someone’s popular,” his mom calls out after him. He rolls his eyes and opens his messages. 

**06:53:** yo 

**06:53:** while i have u here

 **06:54:** what do u think abt the fish idea

 **06:54:** like r fish a lot of work

 **06:54:** do u have a fish??

 **06:54:** how easy r they to kill cuz i don’t want any more deaths on my hands

 **06:55:** that sounded rly ominous i promise im not a serial killer or anythign

 **06:55:** just a guy gets lonely sometimes yknow?? so i thought pets

 **06:55:** n i like frogs but also fish so idk which i should get if at all

 **06:55:** any input??

A guy, then. A guy lonely enough to want a pet to keep him company. A guy lonely enough to keep texting Akaashi even though he wasn’t even the intended recipient of his original texts. The thought makes him feel...strange. Needed. 

He figures he may as well respond. 

**> >06:57:** i like fish

**06:58:** cool thanks man

 **06:58:** wait SHIT unless u arent a man

 **06:58:** in which case cool thanks maam 

**06:58:** miss

 **06:58:** mlady 

**06:58:** no ughhh nvm 

**06:58:** sry

**> >06:58: **it’s okay

 **> >06:58: **i’m a guy

Akaashi deliberates for a moment, then types:

**> >06:59: **i think you should get that fish. 

And with that, he shuts off his phone and heads out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! i've finally got time to write now that exams are over so welcome to the madness baby  
> after about a year of only academically oriented writing my skills are kinda rusty so please bear with me!! OTL chapter 2 will be out next saturday


	2. brain fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The texts don't stop.
> 
> Or, in which the fish guy decides on a fish.

The texts don’t stop. 

Akaashi had figured that once the guy had fixed his contact information, the texts would stop. He hadn’t anticipated the near-constant buzz of his phone signaling new texts. He’s had to change the settings on his phone so that it doesn’t get taken away during class for going off so often.

“Akaashi, your girlfriend’s texting again,” Onaga says on the third day of pseudo-friendship with the fish guy. They’re eating lunch at Akaashi’s desk. Onaga is the only one of his friends from middle school to have made it into Fukurodani, and the same class at that, so they’ve stuck together. It’s nice to have a friend to talk to, but Akaashi hasn’t made much of an effort to talk to anyone else in his class. He probably should if he doesn’t want to be stuck with only Onaga and his awful eating habits for company. 

“Not my girlfriend,” Akaashi says, but he picks up his phone anyway. 

**12:41:** ok so i was looking at different kinds of fish

**12:41:** were u not planning on telling me that there r so many different kinds??

**12:41:** like look at this motherfucker

Attached is a picture of a fish whose brain looks to be swelling out of its head. Akaashi barely resists a snort. Onaga raises his eyebrows, and Akaashi shakes his head. 

**12:41:** its called a flowerhorn cichlid

**12:42:** crazy huh!!   
**12:42:** their brains grow outside their bodies

**12:42:** i thought there were like 2 kinds of fish but nope!!!

**12:42:** big brain fish!!!!!!

**12:42:** some of these r rly cool actually i might have to reconsider owls being my favorite animal

Onaga bites into his onigiri, scattering rice all over Akaashi’s screen. “Let me see.”

Akaashi shrugs and hands his phone over. He watches Onaga’s expression change from indifference to confusion and allows himself a small smile. The guy’s texts are entertaining, if nothing else.

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah.”

“Who  _ is  _ this?” Onaga says, shoving Akaashi’s phone back at him. 

“No idea.”

“What? How do you not know who you’re texting?”

“Wrong number.” Akaashi uses the sleeve of his blazer to wipe the bits of rice off his phone. “He texted me a few days ago by accident and he just...hasn’t stopped.”

“Creepy,” Onaga says, shuddering. “He’s probably a hacker or something like that. Out to steal your identity and sell it on the dark web.”

“He seems okay,” Akaashi says dubiously. “Honest.”

“Dude, wrong numbers aren’t usually coincidence. Maybe he’s a really young telemarketer. Knows how to sound like one of us, you know?”

“One of us?” 

“Yeah, man.”

Akaashi shakes his head and picks a thin strip of egg from his bento. “I think he’s just a guy who wants to get a fish.”

“That’s what they  _ say,  _ you know, to get in. He’s gonna start manipulating you and gaslighting you and eventually sell off your social security number. You’re gonna have nothing left by the time you turn sixteen.”

“Is he a scammer or a hacker? Make up your mind.”

“Both. You’re gonna have to go into, like, witness protection or something when this all blows over.”

“Get your elbows off my desk.” Akaashi nudges Onaga’s arms away from his phone. “Do you even know what witness protection even is?”

“Sorta,” Onaga huffs. “I know it screws your life over pretty bad.”

“He’s not going to screw over my life.”

“Hey, don’t blame me when that guy commits identity theft and your bank account gets drained. I warned you.”

Akaashi swipes Onaga’s milk carton and unlocks his phone to text the guy back.

**> >12:48: ** i think those are kinda expensive

**> >12:48: ** maybe go for a beta fish or some guppies?

“Akaashi, stop texting him,” Onaga groans, reaching for his milk carton. Akaashi holds it above his head, his free hand holding his phone. 

“The guy wants a fish. I’m just giving him suggestions.”

“This is gonna end  _ so badly.” _

Akaashi sighs.  _ “Onaga.” _

“Oh my god. Ghost him! Delete his number! I’ll do it for you if you can’t do it yourself!”

“No!” He clutches his phone to his chest protectively. Onaga stares him down, but Akaashi stares right back. 

“Whatever.” Onaga breaks first, leaning back into his seat with an air of disappointment. “I’m not helping you with all the paperwork you’re gonna have to fill out once you find out your social security number was stolen.”

“Fine by me.”

They’re both silent for a moment.

“Can I have the rest of your egg?”

Akaashi glares. 

  
  


**19:15:** soo

**19:15:** brain fish r, like, 11 thousand yen

**19:15:** ive got savings

**19:15:** im not sayin i could do it but

**19:16:** i could totally do it

**> >19:24: ** why would you get a brain fish

**> >19:24: ** they look weird

**> >19:24: ** just get a goldfish

“Akaashi, phone away at the table.”

“Sorry.” 

Akaashi pockets his phone. He can feel it buzz against his thigh as he picks his chopsticks back up. 

“You’ve been texting a lot lately,” his mom says. “Made some new friends?”

He prods at his yakisoba. “Something like that.”

Akaashi isn’t completely sure if this guy counts. He’s definitely not the sort of person Akaashi would usually befriend; brash, overly excitable, always talking. But he finds it a little nice, being able to open his phone and see a new string of texts about fish, or maybe owls, or maybe even volleyball. He finds out that the guy is a second year in high school, that he’s  _ very  _ excited for volleyball season to start back up because their team is  _ killer.  _ (His words, not Akaashi’s.) Akaashi is planning on joining the Fukurodani volleyball team—he’d chosen the school partially for its rigorous volleyball agenda—and once he mentions joining a team to the fish guy, the response is immediate. 

**21:26:** r u SERIOUS

**21:26:** maybe we’ll meet each other on the court :0

**21:26:** i hope ill have my fish by then

**21:27:** wait WHAT POSITION DO U PLAY

**> >21:28:** setter

**21:28:** WING SPIKER BAYBEEEEEEE

**21:29:** LETS GOOOOOOOO

**21:29:** im the ace :3

The guy talks about volleyball as much as he talks about fish. More, even. He must be really smitten with the idea of getting a fish if he gets this excited over it. Or maybe he just isn’t very into volleyball. 

(He’s  _ very  _ into volleyball.)

**21:37:** do u know where they sell brain fish? ive got 8 thousand yen rn 

**21:37:** could probably get the rest in three weeks if my aunt has me babysit the next three saturdays

**> >21:38: ** don’t you have homework

**21:38:** DONT REMIND ME

**21:38:** id rather think about my fish :3

The guy is  _ insufferable. _

**> >21:39: ** i still don’t understand why you can’t get a few guppies like a normal person

**> >21:39: ** why the sudden obsession with brain fish

**21:39:** they look cool ok!! 

**> >21:39: ** they do not

**> >21:39: ** they look weird

**21:40:** stop bullying them just because theyre different :((

**21:40:** ur gonna hurt their feelilngs

**21:40:** ur hurting my feelings too dude :’(

**21:41:** hey ok so u dont have to answer if u dont feel comfortable

**21:41:** but like

**21:41:** do u have a name

**21:41:** i can only call u dude man and bro so many times yknow i feel a little bad

Akaashi freezes. He’s laying on his bed, stomach down, and it feels like a lead weight has suddenly dropped through his intestines. He feels incredibly nervous, and he silently curses Onaga for implanting seeds of doubt into his mind. Onaga is  _ such  _ an asshole. Akaashi needs new friends.

Under his thumbs, the gray ellipsis bubble appears again. 

**21:41:** TOTALLY OK if u dont want to answer!!

**21:41:** here look im not telling u my name either so were even

**21:41:** u can just call me fish man lmao

**21:41:** ace?

**21:41:** ace sounds cooler

**21:41:** call me ace lmao

**21:41:** u still there buddy??

**21:41:** ughhhh sorry

Despite himself, Akaashi bites back a smile. The guy humanizes himself in the weirdest of ways. Akaashi still has reservations, but he’s pretty sure that the guy has no ulterior motives—just a normal high schooler trying to buy a really ugly fish. 

**> >21:42: ** it’s okay

**> >21:42: ** i’m keiji

**> >21:42: ** i’m saving your number as fish man

**21:43:** NOOOOO

**> >21:43: ** i’m gonna

**21:43:** nOOOO D O N T

**> >21:43: ** actually?

**21:43:** nah

**21:43:** its cool 

**21:43:** keiji

**21:43:** ur rly cool

**21:44:** thx

**> >21:44: ** for what?

**21:44:** idk 

**21:44:** nvm lol

**21:44:** gnight keiji

Akaashi’s stomach turns at the sight of his name—his  _ given name— _ in that last gray text bubble. No one calls him Keiji outside of his family. It feels...weird. Not in a bad way, just... _ new.  _

**> >21:45: ** goodnight

Akaashi shuts his phone off and places it back on his nightstand. He flicks the light switch and slides under his thin sheets, flipping his pillow over to the cooler side. His last coherent thought before drifting off is that he hadn’t managed to get the fish guy’s name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! chapter three will be out next saturday, so stay tuned!


	3. u seem kinda familiar bro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Akaashi finds a pet store that sells flowerhorn cichlids and Bokuto meets a new member.

Volleyball season starts two weeks later, and Akaashi toys with the collar of his gym uniform as he approaches the gym for the first time. It’s hard not to feel self-conscious when the shirt hangs down to about mid-thigh and the collar stretches halfway to his shoulders—his mom had ordered the wrong size by mistake, and he couldn’t exactly show up to the first practice of the year without one. So here he is, standing in front of the double doors as he tucks his shirt into his shorts with all the indifference he can muster. 

Then the left door swings open, and Akaashi almost collides with nearly six feet of muscle.

“Fuck!” He hears the guy say loudly. Akaashi backs away just in time— the guy skids to a stop right where he’d been standing—and ends up on his knees while the guy teeters for a moment before falling against the door frame.

“Shit, sorry!” The guy says almost directly into Akaashi’s ear. He’s _loud;_ Akaashi rubs his ear as the guy gives him a hand up. “My bad, dude. I never look where I’m going.” He squints down at Akaashi’s uniform. “Hey, are you sure you put on your shirt instead of someone else’s? That thing is huge.”

“Yeah.” Akaashi sighs. “Ordering mistake.”

“Oh. Are you here for volleyball club?”

He nods, and the guy lights up immediately. 

“Cool, cool! Are you a first year? I’ll show you around! What middle school did you come from?” The guy blinks down at him expectantly, and Akaashi opens his mouth before closing it again. 

“Sorry. Too many questions at once.”

“Ah, that’s okay!” The guy takes him by the shoulder and guides him into the gym. “I can talk a lot. I’m Bokuto, by the way.”

“Akaashi Keiji,” he mumbles.

Bokuto gives him a strange look. 

“Sorry?” He tries, and Bokuto shakes his head quickly. 

“No, it’s not you! I know a few Keijis.”

“Well, it’s a common name,” Akaashi says, scratching at his elbow.

Now that Akaashi’s actually upright and facing Bokuto, he realizes the full scope of how... _strange_ the guy looks. He’s not unattractive by any means, but his hair is spiked ridiculously high and gives him the appearance of a horned owl. His hair fades out from dark brown to platinum on the tips, and his eyes are wide with curiosity. 

“Sorry for almost plowing you down,” Bokuto says abruptly. He’s guiding Akaashi to what is most likely a storage cupboard. “Do you need a smaller shirt? I could probably get Konoha to lend you one; you’re probably about the same size.”

“It’s okay,” Akaashi says. “Mine should be arriving in a few days.” The idea isn’t altogether unappealing, but he doesn’t much like the idea of borrowing a shirt from someone he hasn’t even met. 

Bokuto shrugs, staring critically at Akaashi’s stretched neckline. “That thing doesn’t look very aerodynamic, but, y’know, your funeral.”

He pulls the door open and leads Akaashi through the cupboard, which is larger on the inside than it looks from the gym. “This is where we keep our stuff. We have a rotating system for after-practice cleanup, so you’ll get to put everything back eventually.”

Bokuto grabs a volleyball cart and gestures for Akaashi to do the same. “We’re still setting up,” he says apologetically. “The first practice is always a little delayed for one reason or another. Konoha lost the key today. I think we might actually be cursed.”

Bokuto continues to chatter on, and Akaashi relaxes a little beside him. By the time everyone else has arrived, the slight nerves he’d had at the beginning of the day have disappeared entirely. He gets into rhythm easily and keeps it up throughout practice, and Bokuto claps him on the back during a five-minute break. 

“Hey, you’re pretty good for a first year!” He says. “Solid receives, you know? What school are you from?”

“Mori Middle School.” 

“Ah.” Bokuto nods knowingly. “I went to Ushimi. I don’t think we ever played each other. You must’ve been on their team, right?”

Akaashi nods. 

“I dunno,” Bokuto says, “You don’t look familiar, but I get this vibe from you, y’know? I dunno, you’re...like...chill. Keep it up.”

And with that, Bokuto claps him hard on the shoulder as the whistle blows. Akaashi almost chokes on his water. 

He doesn’t get another text from the fish guy until past nine-thirty. 

**21:38:** ok so 

**21:38:** u know how im on a volleyball team right

 **21:38:** so we got some new players 

**21:38:** and holy sHIT

 **21:38:** dude, keiji, one of the new guys is like

 **21:38:** HOT

 **21:39:** my self-restraint? gone

 **21:39:** i tried to talk to him and went braindead halfway through

 **21:39:** literally dont even remember what i said

 **21:39:** ughhh im so upset

 **21:39:** gahhh

 **21:39:** why am i like this :(((((((((((

**> >21:40: **i mean

 **> >21:40: **if it helps

 **> >21:40: **i found a place that sells those stupid brain fish

**21:41:** KEIJIIIIIIII

 **21:41:** I WILL LITERALLY GIVE U MY FIRSTBORN

 **21:41:** HAVE I MENTIONED THAT UR MY FAVORITE PERSON

 **21:41:** THANK U SO M U C H HOLY SHIT

Fish Guy’s moods change so fast it gives Akaashi mental whiplash. One moment he’ll be moping over something or other and the next, he’ll be hyper to the point where Akaashi is reminded of his five-year-old cousin. The guy really is like a child in some respects. His thought process seems so simple, for one. Sometimes Akaashi wishes he could channel some of that simplicity instead of constantly overthinking, well...everything, really. 

**21:42:** WILL U PLEASE PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE DROP THE ADDRESS

 **21:42:** I ACTUALLY LOVE U SO MUCH????

 **21:42:** KEIJI UR A SHINING STAR IN MY LIFE I WOULD BE NOTHING WITHOUT U

It’s a little cute, Akaashi admits, the way Fish Guy seems so... _ pure. _ His mindset is so straightforward, little room for logic once he gets excited. Complete, unadulterated emotion is the only thing left. 

_You are such a child,_ he types out, and then erases it.

 **> >21:42: **please don’t praise me so much

 **> >21:42: **it was honestly quite easy to find, they’re sold at normal pet stores

 **> >21:42: **the one i found isn’t even twenty minutes away from my house

**21:42:** AAAAAAAAAA

 **21:43:** u will notice im not asking u to run there this second and buy me a fish

 **21:43:** bc that would be a) rude of me and b) its probably not open this late

**> >21:43: **i appreciate that

**21:44:** its not open this late...right?

**> >21:44: **oh my god

**21:44:** im just sAYINGf

**> >21:44: **they closed at 8

 **> >21:44: **anyway i have stuff to do, i wouldn’t just drop everything to go buy you a fish that costs literally 11 thousand yen

**21:45:** shit ur right 

**21:45:** i forgot abt the cost ://

 **21:45:** im babysitting this saturday tho!! n then ill have enough :3

**> >21:45: **congratulations

**21:45:** thank u

 **21:47:** hey

 **21:47:** i was thinking

**> >21:47: **dangerous

**21:47:** ha

 **21:47:** no but rly 

**21:47:** i was wondering

 **21:47:** if u would like to come with me to get the fish 

Akaashi watches the gray ellipsis bubble appear and then disappear for a few moments.

He doesn’t even know what to say. _Yes, I’ll meet you for the first time in a gross pet shop where i can watch you buy an ugly fish and ignore my texts afterwards. Sure, I’ll come by, and hopefully, you won’t end up being a kidnapper or anything!_

Onaga is starting to get into his head. 

**21:50:** AGAIN ITS DEF OK TO SAY NO

 **21:50:** i completely get if u arent comfortable!! 

**21:50:** i just wanted to see if u could come bc u were like...part of the journey and all...thought u might want to see how it turned out in person

 **21:50:** dw i can send u pics in the store if u dont wanna go

Akaashi takes a deep breath in and exhales slowly. His fingertips feel all weird and tingly, like they’ve already decided for him. 

**> >21:52: **okay

 **> >21:52: **i’ll go

 **> >21:52: **when are you free?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for sticking with me so far! chapter 4 is shaping up to be a little longer than usual, so come prepared next saturday :D


	4. knees weak, arms heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Akaashi is made aware of the inherent homoeroticism of staring deeply into a bro's eyes

It turns out that Bokuto really likes hitting his tosses.  _ Really  _ likes them. 

“Akaashi, will you stay with me after practice?” Bokuto practically begs him on Thursday. “I really wanna practice line shots some more, but Konoha has homework and Sarukui just glared at me when I asked him.” Akaashi watches Bokuto’s hands squeeze the volleyball between them. “Just for half an hour! Forty-five minutes, maybe.”

Bokuto sounds so  _ hopeful.  _

Akaashi needs the practice anyway, and so he sighs and says, “Alright, Bokuto-san. Half an hour.”

It’s late; the harsh fluorescent light strips lend a gentle hum to the otherwise quiet gym, save for the  _ slap  _ of the ball against the floor. Akaashi throws Bokuto toss after toss, and Bokuto is surprisingly quiet. He’s got this intense, concentrated expression, brow furrowed and lips drawn thin. He’s an entirely different person here, just the two of them with nothing but white light and volleyballs for company. 

Akaashi tosses. Bokuto spikes.

The next ball lands just outside the court. Akaashi has observed the team in play for long enough that he knows Bokuto is usually upset over a shot like this, but he simply runs his tongue over his lower lip and glares through the net at the baselines. 

“One more,” he says, voice hoarse with exertion and disuse. 

One more turns into two, into five, into twenty. Bokuto’s line shots are getting better, and Akaashi focuses on getting the ball directly to Bokuto every time. Twenty turns into thirty, thirty into thirty-five.

“We’re out,” Akaashi says at thirty-seven. He watches curiously as Bokuto takes a moment to resurface, his expression smoothing over. 

“Sorry about that,” he says, glancing at the clock. Akaashi jolts a little—it’s been almost forty minutes. “Lost track of time. I’ll clean up, don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” he says, although he makes a mental note to text his mother before she starts to worry. 

Bokuto looks surprised, but he just shrugs and starts his cooldown stretches. Akaashi watches his broad shoulders distend the fabric of his shirt as Bokuto gets down on the ground for reclining twists. 

It’s somewhat surprising, he thinks, following suit. From what he’s observed thus far, Bokuto is a flashy person. He thrives on the attention of others to the point where his gameplay is directly affected by it. His moods are completely genuine; Akaashi had assumed it was mostly for show the first time he’d seen Bokuto in a momentary depressive state. He knows better, now. Bokuto feels every ounce of emotion on the court, absorbs not only his own but his teammates’ as well, and reflects them as he best knows how to. 

Bokuto counts to twenty before switching legs. Akaashi follows, losing himself to the cadence of Bokuto’s voice as he leads them into lunges and seated twists. This version of Bokuto is quieter, more serious. He talks less, and his smiles are fewer than Akaashi sees at practice. 

He wonders if anyone else has seen Bokuto like this, if Bokuto feels pressured to keep up an act for the rest of the team. Why he hasn’t been included in this bubble. He’s known Bokuto all of two weeks, and while they do sync up admirably in practice, nothing else really connects them. They’re still unfamiliar with each other, and Akaashi isn’t sure how to become more comfortable with him. 

Bokuto stands up and rolls his shoulders. His back arches up, and Akaashi follows the smooth curve of Bokuto’s spine with his eyes. 

He would like to become comfortable with Bokuto, he supposes. It’s an admission he hadn’t expected from himself, not at first—Bokuto’s flashiness had been lost on him completely—but he’s grown on Akaashi since. His redundant cheering has ceased to be annoying, maybe even toeing the line of endearing. Within Akaashi’s mind, anyway—he’s not so sure about the others.

But quiet, serious Bokuto is nice, too. Akaashi can tell that he really enjoys the sport and recognizes the window for improvement, even though he’s already undeniably  _ good.  _ No one else would stay forty minutes late to hit spikes, after all. 

“Thank you,” Bokuto says as Akaashi gets to his feet. “You didn’t have to stay.”

Akaashi shrugs. “I know. I wanted to.”

Bokuto’s grin is much too wide for his face. “Akaashi! You’re the best!”

He smiles, letting himself be swayed slightly by the praise. “It’s really not a big deal, Bokuto-san. I don’t have much homework to do, anyway.”

“Still!”

They clean up together. Akaashi flips the lights off, and Bokuto locks the gym door. Bokuto starts up a stream of mindless chatter as they head to the club room.

“And I was like,  _ bro, you’re gonna kill yourself if you do that,  _ but of course he doesn’t listen—“

He pauses to unlock the club room door. The lights are still on, and Akaashi unzips his bag to get out a dry shirt. Bokuto slides off his volleyball shoes.

“So then, long story short, we end up explaining to Kuroo’s mom that  _ no, it was totally completely safe,  _ and she never found out that he had to get seven stitches. So.”

Something clicks in Akaashi’s brain, but he can’t parse it out through the sudden wave of exhaustion. The name sounds familiar, somehow. A classmate, maybe?

“Kuroo?” He asks. He pulls his shirt over his head and throws the sweat-soaked one into his bag. He sits down on the bench beside the lockers to zip up his bag and tug his street shoes on. 

“Ah, a friend of mine,” Bokuto says, slipping on a pair of beat-up sneakers. “He goes to Nekoma. You know him?”

“Dunno,” Akaashi says through a yawn. He’s really starting to feel the bone-deep tiredness that weighs him down after a particularly hard practice. His arms feel like lead.

“Dude, you look kinda dead,” Bokuto says. He crouches down in front of Akaashi, tipping his chin up so that Bokuto can look into his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine,” he says honestly. “Just tired.”

“Shit, is this on me?” Bokuto looks genuinely concerned. “You shouldn’t push yourself too hard, you know. You need to tell me if things are too much for you, otherwise you’ll end up overworking yourself.”

“I’m okay,” he says, and when Bokuto’s gaze remains unrelenting,  _ “really.  _ I’m just sleepy. I didn’t get much rest last night.”

Bokuto’s brow furrows, and Akaashi notices that his eyes are yellow-gold, bright in the artificial light. He’d always figured they were hazel. 

“Sleep extra tonight,” Bokuto says, voice firm, and Akaashi watches with fascination as a few strands of Bokuto’s hair slip from their gelled confines into his eyes. 

His hands move before he can stop them; he reaches out and brushes them slowly off of Bokuto’s forehead with his forefinger. Their eyes meet, and Akaashi realizes faintly that Bokuto is still resting calloused fingers against his chin.

It’s quiet, so quiet. He can hear the crickets chirping outside, the  _ rush  _ of a passing car. Bokuto’s slow breaths against Akaashi’s wrist. 

Bokuto’s hair is soft. Softer than Akaashi had expected, considering the amount of product Bokuto must use to spike his hair every morning. Even the tips of his hair, bleached platinum, feel wholly undamaged. Akaashi brushes the strands back into place, his touch feather-light. His fingertips rest lightly against Bokuto’s hairline. 

For a moment, it’s like they’re frozen in time. Like they’re the only ones in the entire world. Bokuto’s eyes are entire golden planets against his own, his fingers against Akaashi sparking the fire of a hundred suns. 

Bokuto pulls away first, letting his hand drop and standing up slowly. He’s blinking, hesitant, and Akaashi feels dazed. A little blinded, even, like he’d stared directly at the sun for too long.

“Come on, Akaashi,” Bokuto says quietly, “I’ll walk you out.”

Bokuto ends up walking him home. They actually don’t live very far apart, though Akaashi has never walked home with Bokuto before. He usually bikes home immediately after practice. 

Bokuto is pushing Akaashi’s bike after insisting that Akaashi needed to “conserve his energy” for the “long journey home.” 

“You really don’t have to,” Akaashi says now, making a weak grab for the handlebars. Bokuto veers away, dragging the bike with him. “Really, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto almost goes the wrong way, starting to turn on his street instead of continuing to Akaashi’s. When Akaashi points in the opposite direction, Bokuto just laughs and wheels the bike around the stoplight. 

It’s...comfortable. Easy. Akaashi doesn’t have a whole lot of friendships to compare this to, but he can safely say that he feels at ease. Maybe even more so than he does with Onaga. 

Bokuto starts up another story involving him and some friends from middle school as well as a rusted bucket, a yardstick, and several boxes worth of fireworks. Akaashi listens, letting himself be lulled half-conscious by the sticky summer heat and the gentle tone of Bokuto’s voice. It rises and falls in time with their steps and the  _ tick  _ of his bicycle spokes. 

They arrive in front of Akaashi’s house a few minutes later. Night has completely fallen now, stars weaving trails above their heads, and this means that Akaashi can clearly see that the light in the kitchen is on. His stomach sinks. 

“Ahh, shit,” he groans to Bokuto, who is propping the bike up against the porch, “I forgot to text my mom.”

Bokuto cocks his head at him, questioning, but then the front door squeaks open and Akaashi is face-to-face with his mother, who is wearing pajamas and reading glasses and is visibly unhappy with him.

“Kei—“ She starts, but Bokuto seems to catch on and cuts her off before she can embarrass Akaashi too heavily in front of him.

“Sorry, Akaashi-san!” he says loudly, ducking into a perfect ninety degrees. “Akaashi stayed after practice with me to help me practice! It’s my fault he was out late!”

His mom looks almost amused, waving Bokuto back up quickly. “It’s no problem,” she says, “though I wouldn’t mind Keiji-chan texting me when he plans to stay at school later than usual.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Akaashi says sheepishly. 

“We’ll talk later,” she says, but she looks less angry than before. “Would you like to come in, ah…?”

“Bokuto Koutarou,” Bokuto says. “Sorry, I should head home. It was nice meeting you though, Akaashi-san!”

“Likewise,” Akaashi’s mom says.

Bokuto bows shortly, then turns around. “See you tomorrow, Akaashi!” He calls before stepping out into the sidewalk. Akaashi watches until he disappears from view. 

“He seems...energetic,” his mother says, amusement clear in her eyes.

“Mom…”

“Is he the one you’ve been texting so often lately?” She teases, ruffling his hair and pushing him through the door. 

“I— _ no!  _ That’s someone else!” He protests hotly. He feels the temperature rise tenfold around him, knows his cheeks have gone pink. His mother raises an eyebrow but says nothing. 

When he thinks about it now, though, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, Bokuto and Fish Guy do seem to have some traits in common. They’re both headstrong, excitable people. Both wildly informal. Both  _ very  _ passionate about volleyball. He can sort of picture a vague, Bokuto-esque shape rambling about stupid brainy fish for hours on end. 

His train of thought leads him back to the locker room earlier that evening, empty save for himself and Bokuto. He remembers Bokuto’s fingers on his chin, calloused and gentle. It had been so  _ quiet.  _

He remembers this: for a moment, he had thought that Bokuto was about to kiss him. 


	5. kuroo tetsurou, living legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kuroo Tetsurou solves a mystery.

**19:57:** i just had a thought

**> >19:59: ** that’s dangerous

**19:59:** shut up

**19:59:** dont u think its crazy how water,,,like,,,exists

**20:00:** but its not solid??? like it can go straight through ur hands

**20:00:** not like straight through but...around? idk

**20:00:** its kinda like bread dough but thinner

**20:00:** and u have to run it through ur organs on a regular basis to live

**20:00:** thin bread dough

**> >20:02: ** have you been drinking apple juice before bed again

**20:02:** ha fuckin ha

**20:03:** im serious doesnt it just blow ur mind tho????

**> >20:03: ** not really

**> >20:03: ** 70% of this planet is liquid

**20:03:** :0

**20:03:** keiji ur so smart this is why i talk to u 

**> >20:03: ** it’s common knowledge

**20:04:** still

**20:04:** mind: blown

**20:04:** ur brain: large

**20:04:** not as large as my fish’s will be tho

**> >20:04: ** is this an insult

**20:05:** i would never insult you keiji

**20:05:** fr tho i cant believe my fish will be swimming around in thin bread dough like wtf

**20:09:** ughh keiji

**20:09:** i cant believe i find honorifics sexy now

**20:09:** hessofuckingcute

**20:09:** i seriously almost kissed him the other day hes just so,,,yknow

**> >20:09: ** the fish?

**20:10:** no i mean the guy on my team

**> >20:10: ** oh

**> >20:10: ** i thought we were talking about fish

**20:12:** well we’re talking about the guy now

**20:12:** it feels weird being the only one talking about someone i like tho

**20:12:** how bout u

**20:12:** who do u like

**20:12:** do u like anyone??

**> >20:15: ** yeah, i guess 

**20:15:** well that def sounds certain lol

**> >20:15: ** i do

**> >20:15: ** like someone

**20:16:** whos the lucky lady

**> >20:16: ** not a lady 

**20:16:** ah same!!

**20:16:** well u knew that ig

**20:18:** ughhhh his EYES keiji theyre so prettyyyyyy

**20:18:** n his thighs...like i didnt know i was a thigh guy but ig i am now????

**20:18:** he turned me, keiji

**20:18:** im a changed man

**> >20:18: ** go to sleep

**20:19:** noooo i wanna talk w u 

**> >20:19: ** i’ll be heading off in a second as well

**20:19:** :((((((

**20:19:** ok

**20:20:** gnight <3

**> >20:20: ** goodnight

**> >20:20: ** sleep well, fish man

**20:20:** u too keiji :3

**03:34:** hey

**03:34:** hey hey hey

**03:37:** ok gn

**06:34:** gm 

**06:34:** hope u slept well!!

**> >06:42: ** why were you up so late

**06:47:** woke up in the middle of the night idk

**06:47:** bad dream

**06:48:** cant remember anything now tho

**> >06:48: ** ah

**> >12:48: ** i’m passing on a message from my friend

**> >12:48: ** he says, and i quote, “that is the ugliest fucking fish i’ve ever seen in my life. who would want something that horrific living in their house? i’d flush it down the toilet the first chance i got”

**12:48:** THATS MEAN KEIJI >:((((((((((

**> >12:50: ** don’t shoot the messenger

**03:15:** have fun at ur volleyball practice today!! 

**> >03:17: ** you too

“Maybe you’re anemic,” Bokuto says. It’s Friday, and they’re walking home together; Akaashi had taken longer than usual getting changed, and when he’d gotten to the bike racks, Bokuto had been waiting for him. So Akaashi walks alongside his bike, hands trailing over the handlebars with Bokuto beside him. He wonders if this is going to become a daily thing. Maybe he should just ditch the bike entirely.

“What? Why?”

“I dunno. I think not having iron in your blood affects oxygen somehow? Kuroo said it was something like that, anyway, and he knows more about this kind of stuff than I do. Maybe that’s why you got so tired yesterday, ‘cause your body couldn’t breathe.”

Akaashi gives him a sharp look. “I don’t think anemia is a one-time thing. I’d know if something was wrong with me. I just get exhausted a normal amount, you know?” He cocks his head, looking over at Bokuto. “Do you not normally feel tired after playing?”

“I mean, kinda?” Bokuto runs a hand through his hair, overly gelled as per usual. “I don’t really think much about it.”

Akaashi wonders how one might simply ignore the signals their body gives. Then again, Bokuto is so monumentally simple-minded that he may quite possibly be able to push past his limits with little regard for consequence. Maybe that’s how he manages to give his all with every game he plays. It’s admirable, really. And completely stupid.

“Well, I don’t get really tired until after I play,” Akaashi says, “so it’s probably not anemia. And I only get like that when I strain myself a bit.”

“So you  _ were  _ overworking yourself!” Bokuto says, pointing a finger at him accusingly. 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he says quickly. Incurring Bokuto’s wrath is, frankly, the last thing he needs.

_ “Akaashi,”  _ Bokuto whines, “I  _ told  _ you not to do that! You’ll end up injured, if not worse!”

“I think between the two of us, I’m far less likely to seriously injure myself,” Akaashi says dryly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He can’t hold back a small smile. “Absolutely nothing, Bokuto-san.”

_ “Akaashiiiiiiiiiiii!”  _ Bokuto groans, and Akaashi glances over. Bokuto is absolutely  _ radiant _ in the afternoon sunlight; his tie is loosened on account of the lingering summer heat, and one of his buttons is popped open. His collarbone is just barely visible if Akaashi turns his head the right way. 

He looks away. 

When the time comes for Bokuto and Akaashi to head down separate streets, Akaashi hops onto his bike and rides past where he normally takes a left turn. He only vaguely remembers where the pet store is, but within ten minutes he comes across a small shopping plaza. A banner lettered in bright red kanji announces, “Bakeneko Pet Store: Buy Two Guppies, Get One Free!” Akaashi wonders if the fish guy would be satisfied with a few guppies. It would save him a lot of money, surely.

His kickstand is broken, so he sets his bike against the peeling stucco wall. A bell jingles loudly when he pushes the glass door open. 

“—Kenma, I  _ told  _ you, my mom’s allergic to cats! We can’t just spring another on her, you know? It was bad enough with Aiko, and she was an outdoor cat to begin with—”

Akaashi had expected to be the only one in the store, especially this late in the day, so it’s surprising when he sees someone else at the register. The guy is tall, taller than him, and looks to be about his age. His dark hair is hopelessly beheaded, and Akaashi watches him run his hands through it. He’s got his elbows propped up against the register and his conversation with the cashier is carrying loudly enough that Akaashi can hear every word without trying to eavesdrop.

“I’ve already got three cats, Kuroo,” the cashier says, sounding bored, and Akaashi frowns. 

_ Kuroo?  _

The door jingles shut behind Akaashi, and the cashier and the tall guy both glance up.

“Welcome to Bakeneko Pet Store,” the cashier says, monotone. He blinks slowly at Akaashi before shaking bleach-blond hair back into his eyes. “We’re out of canned dog food. I don’t know when the next shipment is.” 

The tall guy—Kuroo—reaches out and ruffles the cashier’s hair. “You know, if your boss heard you talkin’ like that, you’d be out on your ass in a second.”

“Good thing he’s not here, then.”

Kuroo sighs and jerks his head towards Akaashi. “Ignore him. He’s all moody ‘cause his boss caught him with his DS on the job the other day. You know how it is.”

“Oh,” Akaashi says, feeling distinctly out of his depth. 

“Hey, your uniform,” Kuroo says, leaning forward. “You from Fukurodani?”

The bleach-blond cashier cocks his head at that. His eyes meet Akaashi’s, narrowed and startlingly bright. Akaashi nods.

“What year?”

“First.”

“Ah, cool.” Kuroo pokes the cashier in the cheek. “Kenma here’s a first year too, and I’m in my second. Both from Nekoma.”

“I’m Akaashi Keiji. Pleased to meet you.”

“Wow, proper,” Kuroo says, grinning startlingly wide. “Kuroo Tetsurou. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Kenma drones, sounding as though he could care less.

“Hey, you know a guy named Bokuto Koutarou by any chance?” Kuroo leans down over Akaashi, hands in his pockets. “Second year? Frosted tips? Figured I’d check.”

“Bokuto?” Akaashi smiles a little despite himself, recognition dawning. “We play volleyball together. He’s mentioned you before. Are you the seven stitches guy?”

“That’s me!” Kuroo looks entirely too delighted to be talking about an incident Bokuto had referred to as “too gruesome for the human eye to witness” and then proceeded to talk about in great detail. “Fuck yeah, that’s my best bro!” 

Akaashi can see why. They’re both loud, upfront, and slightly intimidating. Bokuto on his own is enough of a handful, but in the company of this guy...he shudders to think what could happen. Nothing is too wildly improbable. 

“Hey, did he ever end up getting that fish?” Kuroo says, still grinning. “He was talking my ear off about it the other day, even sent me a picture. Fuckin’ weird, man. Got this massive brain sticking out of its head, you can literally see it through the skin.”

_ What. _

“What,” Akaashi says faintly. 

“He didn’t tell you?” Kuroo looks surprised. “I figured he’d have told the volleyball team and half of the school by now. He’s like that.”

“No, I, uh—“

His voice sounds distorted to his own ears, like he’s suddenly underwater. Against the wall adjacent to him sit a wall full of fish tanks, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of a purplish fish with a protruded forehead. His stomach twists violently.

“Dude, you good?” Kuroo frowns. “You look like you’re gonna throw up. Something wrong?”

“No, I just. Uh. I.”

Bokuto is Fish Guy. Fish Guy is Bokuto. The guy who texts him at ungodly hours of the night is Bokuto, and the guy who held Akaashi’s face in his hands and wheeled his bike home for him is Fish Guy. Akaashi supposes that in retrospect, it makes sense. Both loud-mouthed second-year wing spikers with Tokyo area codes—it had to have been more than coincidence. 

“I’ve got somewhere to be right now,” he finds himself saying. His lips feel numb. “It was nice meeting the both of you.”

“Hey, wait—!”

Akaashi pushes open the door, jingling the bell loudly against the glass, and grabs his bike from where it’s slipped down the wall. 

Bokuto. Texting him. Last night.

About how he likes his fucking  _ thighs.  _

Akaashi manages to act normally throughout dinner. He smiles at his father’s awful jokes and answers steadily when his mother asks him questions about his classes. He is the epitome of normality; he is  _ not  _ in the midst of a crisis. He swallows down a mouthful of udon, letting their heaviness weigh down the fluttering in his stomach. Maybe if he eats enough he can crush it down entirely. 

“How’s volleyball been, Keiji-chan?” His mom smiles at him across the table. Her teeth are slightly crooked, the mark of failure to wear a retainer after years of braces; Akaashi is reminded of Bokuto’s smile. His teeth are slightly off as well, though not noticeably so unless one is looking for it.

“Good,” he says through gritted teeth. When did Bokuto start to live at the forefront of his mind? It’s only gotten worse since Kuroo connected the dots for him; all he’s been able to think about since earlier this afternoon is Bokuto, Bokuto, Bokuto. He should be paying Akaashi rent for all the space he takes up. How is he supposed to go back to school on Monday and learn about biology?

“That’s great to hear,” his mother says. “I’ll admit I was a little worried that your time in that club would affect your studies, but your scores have been consistently high since the start of the school year. I’m proud of you, Keiji-chan.”

He smiles tightly as she reaches over to ruffle his hair. His dad looks on, nodding thoughtfully. 

_ Bokuto is the guy who texts me when he can’t sleep. _

_ Fish Guy is the guy who almost kissed me the other day. _

_ Bokuto. _

Fish Guy— _ Bokuto— _ wakes him at ten-thirty the following day with a text that he’s looking forward to finally getting his fish. Akaashi texts back an agreement and nothing else, shutting his phone off and opting to stare at his ceiling instead. His mind has been reeling since yesterday evening. 

It shouldn’t be so big of a deal, he tells himself. He’s blowing this entirely out of proportion. So the guy he likes is also the guy he’d been starting to like. He likes the same person— _ twice. _ Not confusing at all. Not a big deal.

...but it  _ is,  _ isn’t it? He’d spent a while last night last night bridging the two in his mind. It’s not difficult; Bokuto talks similarly to the way he types. The only trouble is that Akaashi can now clearly picture all six feet of Bokuto spread-eagled across his bed, typing one-handed and wearing an old t-shirt and boxers. He groans and buries his head in his pillow. Maybe it would’ve been better to not have known about Bokuto’s identity until after they’d met. How is he supposed to face him in a few hours and act like everything is normal? Everything is very definitely  _ not  _ normal.

Akaashi turns his phone back on. He’s already got a missed call from Onaga and several texts from  _ Fish Man.  _ His stomach, apparently unaffected by the weight of last night’s udon noodles, flips violently. He calls Onaga back instead of reading Bokuto’s texts. He’s not running away from his problems, he tells himself, he’s just...saving them for later.

“Akaashi?” 

“Yeah,” he hums, leaning back against his wall.

“Could I check my study guide with you? For History. Page thirteen didn’t make any sense. It would also be  _ completely  _ fine if you wanted to slide me your answer to the essay question.”

“Sure. I’ll send you pictures.” Akaashi thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of acting normally in the midst of all of this. He’s already been blowing this entirely out of proportion, he tells himself. Maybe he’ll feel better if he talks to a friend about this. 

“Yo, Akaashi, are you feeling okay?” Onaga says, voice tinny over the speaker. “You  _ never  _ let me copy. Did something happen?”

So much for normal. His stomach flutters.  _ Now,  _ he thinks,  _ tell him now. Tell him that you’re having a crisis because the fish guy he thought was a scammer is actually captain of our volleyball team. _

“Nope,” he says, smiling through gritted teeth. “Must be the goodwill slipping out. I did just wake up.”

“You’ll still slide me the essay question, right?” Onaga asks, sounding entirely too hopeful.

“I’ll send you page thirteen. Do the writing yourself,” Akaashi says. 

“What? You just said—”

“Changed my mind. You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You  _ asshole!”  _

Akaashi presses  _ end call.  _ Well, there goes his chance. 

**10:51:** looking forward to meeting u irl today!!

**10:51:** its gonna b hot tho, i hope the fish will survive :(

**10:51:** ooh keiji we should name her!! think of names so we can choose one after we meet her :3

Akaashi lays back down on top of his sheets, eyes locked onto the last text bubble. His heart leaps up into his throat with the realization that Bokuto has been calling him by his given name for  _ weeks  _ now. 

He flips his pillow around and shoves his head into the cooler side, hoping that his cheeks will lose their color against cool cotton. He wonders how Bokuto would say his name in person.  _ Keiji.  _ Lips soft around the vowels, cheeks dimpling.  _ Keiji. Keiji.  _

He’s imagining it too softly. Bokuto is not soft; he is a screamer.  _ KEEEEEEIJIIIIIIIIII!  _ would be far more accurate.

**> >11:05: ** i’m sure your fish will be fine

_ Wait a minute. _

Akaashi has been getting texts for  _ weeks  _ now about how Fish Guy’s setter looks when he throws tosses. About his hair, his thighs, his  _ eyelashes.  _ About how Bokuto’s been falling for this guy on his team who puts up with his requests, no matter how outlandish. 

The last puzzle piece falls into place, and Akaashi’s stomach explodes into a mass of seven thousand butterflies. He feels tingly all the way down to his fingertips, and the feeling is only intensified when the gray ellipsis bubble appears on Bokuto’s end. He bites his lip and waits.

**11:09:** i sure hope so!!  ᕦ(ò_óˇ)

**11:09:** k im leaving in a bit, its gonna take a while to walk to the bus stop

**11:10:** see u soon keiji!! :)

**11:12:** leaving now!

Akaashi deliberates for a second. He hears the blood roaring in his ears, feels his jackrabbiting pulse all over his body. His room, suddenly, is much too warm. Carefully, he types out:

**> >11:12: ** see you there, bokuto-san.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter is coming next saturday, so stay tuned! thanks for sticking with this fic so far, i really do appreciate you all :)


	6. akaasheeeieieieiggggh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kenma doesn't get paid enough to third-wheel and a second first meeting takes place.

The bike ride to the pet store is  _ torture.  _ Akaashi desperately wants to check his phone, but any questions Bokuto has, good or bad, will be answered soon enough. His fists curl tighter around his bicycle handlebars, knuckles straining white against the rubber grips. 

He has no idea how Bokuto will react. His phone is set to silent so that he won’t answer any calls or texts from him. For all he knows, Bokuto has been blowing his phone up with texts and calls since he’d switched it off. 

Akaashi drums his fingers against his handlebars as he pulls up to a stop sign two blocks away from the shopping center. He checks his watch—11:53. Bokuto should have arrived by now. A hot wash of anxiety fills his stomach, and he swallows past the lump in his throat. The light turns green. He crosses the street. 

Akaashi sees Bokuto first. He’s leaning against the yellowy stucco wall separating the pet store and a nail salon, scrolling through his phone. It’s a little weird to see him wearing something other than the Fukurodani uniform or a ratty practice shirt; he’s got on a dark green T-shirt and jeans, and a bag is slung crossbody over his right shoulder. He looks different, and it takes a moment for Akaashi to place it: his hair isn’t spiked. 

Bokuto looks up when Akaashi’s midway through the parking lot. He waves, and the motion looks so small, so uncertain. Akaashi’s stomach twists. He wants to hug him. 

“Hello, Bokuto-san,” he says breathlessly, coming to a stop a few meters away. 

“It’s you,” Bokuto says disbelievingly. His hair falls into his eyes as he pushes himself off the wall. His eyes are bright, lips quirking up. 

“Yeah,” Akaashi says, smiling despite himself. “It’s me.”

It’s not...tense, exactly. They aren’t talking about it and it’s the massive, hulking elephant in the room, but it’s not uncomfortable. There are things to be discussed, and they will be. All in due time. 

Bokuto nudges him and says, “Hey, Akaashi, d’you like the purple one or the red one better?”

They’re standing in front of the fish tanks that line the wall adjacent to the door. The blond cashier—Kenma?—is at the register again today, and he watches them with narrowed eyes. Akaashi’s neck tickles every time he turns around. 

“It’s your choice that matters most,” he reminds Bokuto. “You’ll be living with this fish for ten to twelve years.”

“Twelve years?” Bokuto exclaims loudly. “Wait, ‘Kaashi, that’s so long! What if I kill Hana before then? What if I accidentally throw a volleyball against the tank and it cracks? What if I die before she does?”

“You’ve already named her? Seems a bit presumptuous, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says grinning, and Bokuto groans dramatically and runs a hand through his hair. Akaashi watches Bokuto tug at the short strands, his lip caught between his teeth as he lets out a small laugh, and then Bokuto turns around and looks at him, really  _ looks,  _ and suddenly all he can hear is the gurgling of fifty aquarium filters behind him and Bokuto’s eyes are wide and he moves a little closer and Akaashi thinks,  _ this is it, this is gonna happen, what the fuck,  _ and then someone clears their throat and—

“You two need any help with the fish?”

Akaashi jumps backward and hits his head on a shelf advertising Tropical Fish Flakes. The display wobbles, and he throws out a hand to steady it.

“Yeah, that would be great,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi is relieved to see that he’s gone red too. “Um, we were just, uh, discussing which one we wanted to, um…”

He lets himself trail off, runs a hand through his hair again. It’s stupidly, disgustingly cute. Akaashi feels the tips of his ears burn harder. 

“You were…” Kenma prompts. How long has he been standing there? He looks beyond irritated, clutching a broom tightly in his right fist. He makes Akaashi feel guilty for things he hasn’t even  _ done.  _

“We’re still discussing what fish would be best for him, given his other commitments,” Akaashi says, and it feels like a decent recovery.

“Hmm.” Kenma looks at Bokuto, frowning for a moment. “Volleyball?”

“Yeah!” Bokuto grins wide at the mention of volleyball. “How’d you—”

“I play too. Figured you were the guy Akaashi-kun and Kuroo-san were talking about.”

“Kuroo?” Bokuto says, perking up. “You know him? Wait, you know Akaashi?”

“We’ve met,” Akaashi says, feeling distinctly as though a very bright light has suddenly been turned upon him. 

They end up talking for a while. Well, ‘talking’ might not be the best word to describe it; Bokuto delivers entire monologues and Kenma gives one- or two-word responses. Akaashi looks at the fish and listens to Bokuto wring embarrassing Kuroo stories out of Kenma, who looks as though he’d much rather retreat to the storeroom.

The brain fish, labeled ‘flowerhorn cichlids,’ are speckled white and a variety of different colors. They are every bit as ugly as Akaashi had thought them the first time he’d seen a picture. Their brains protrude forward, bulbous foreheads sitting at the forefront of their bodies. Kind of like a volleyball. Akaashi snorts at that—it seems about right. A physical manifestation of Bokuto’s psyche. Volleyball is not merely on his brain; it  _ is  _ his brain. 

Finally,  _ finally,  _ Bokuto decides on a small black-and-red fish whose brain looks seconds away from climbing entirely out of its head. It’s ugly and weird and Bokuto grins so widely when Kenma fishes it out of the tank, Akaashi feels himself sigh. He cannot afford to get so fond of the fish already, even if it does make Bokuto smile like that. 

“You should transfer her to a larger tank as soon as possible,” Kenma says, hefting a plastic case onto the register as Bokuto forks over eleven thousand yen. “She’ll die in a few days otherwise.”

“I’ll do it as soon as I can,” Bokuto says, looking positively horrified at the thought of his fish being anything besides perfectly healthy.

The bell jingles on their way out. Akaashi hears the faint  _ blip  _ of a video game console starting up as the door slams shut behind them. 

“You can put the tank in my bike’s basket,” Akaashi says, nodding at his bike, which has slipped halfway down the wall in his absence. “It’ll take much less time than if you carry it the whole way back.”

“We’ll still be walking, though,” Bokuto says. “How long d’you think it’ll take? Forty minutes, if we’re quick?”

“Probably longer.” Akaashi pulls his bike upright, holding it steady as Bokuto deposits the tank in the basket. It’s a little snug, but it fits. Akaashi pulls the straps securely over the top of the tank. “Hey, it’d be faster if you just rode my bike back to your house. I don’t mind the walk.”

“That’s stupid.” Bokuto frowns. “I’m not gonna leave you this far from home. The next bus doesn’t come for over an hour.”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says patiently, “you’ve got a fish out in direct sunlight. The less exposure it gets, the better.”

“Hana-chan will be fine,” Bokuto says, but he looks down at the tank, considering. The fish bobs in the water, forehead as bulbous as ever. 

“Just take the bike, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi holds the handlebars out. 

Bokuto does not take them. Akaashi watches as he cocks his head to the side, gaze sliding over the bike and then Akaashi, and it’s like a light suddenly clicks on in his brain. Akaashi can pinpoint the instant Bokuto gets the idea. His eyes are wide when he meets Akaashi’s gaze. 

“Hey, Akaashi, the tank’s pretty heavy, right? Because of all the water? So maybe the bike wouldn’t balance right if I was just riding it like normal.”

“Where are you going with this?” Akaashi sighs. He has an inkling as to  _ where,  _ but he needs Bokuto to reaffirm it out loud.

“So you should stand on the back! To balance it all out.” His eyes are flecked with gold in the afternoon sunlight, loose bangs brushing the tips of his eyelashes. He looks up at Akaashi through that stupid mix of platinum and dark brown, and it isn’t attractive. It isn’t. Akaashi will not be swayed because Bokuto Koutarou decided to make puppy eyes at him in a strip mall at one in the afternoon. 

“Hana-chan is out in direct sunlight, you know,” Bokuto adds when Akaashi gives him a look. “If she isn’t transferred to a proper tank soon, something bad could happen.”

He looks genuinely worried at that, brows furrowed as he stares down at the cheap plastic tank. Akaashi chews on his lower lip and looks up at Bokuto.

“Please?” He says, and Akaashi breaks. 

“Fine.” He shoves the handlebars at Bokuto, who perks up immediately and pulls the bike closer to him. “If I fall off, I won’t practice with you after school at all next week. If you crash and kill the fish, that’s on you.”

“Hold on tight, then,” Bokuto says, and his voice is low and he  _ grins  _ at Akaashi before swinging a leg over. Akaashi feels his stomach flip again. He steps up onto the rod and wraps his arms around Bokuto. 

“That’s not  _ tight, _ Akaashi,” Bokuto says, scolding, and Akaashi feels his cheeks warm. Bokuto pulls his arms more firmly around his middle until Akaashi is pressed firmly against his back, cheek pressed into Bokuto’s hair. He presses a little closer. Bokuto’s hair looks good like this, without any gel. 

“Oh, thanks!” Akaashi can literally  _ feel  _ the way Bokuto brightens up, and he realizes he’d spoken out loud. “I didn’t have enough time to spike it like I usually do this morning. I was busy getting the tank ready and everything.” He nods, and Akaashi feels it with his whole body. “Okay, you ready?”

“Yeah.” Oh, god, he can smell Bokuto’s shampoo. Apple. He hooks his chin onto Bokuto’s shoulder. 

“We’re gonna get you home safe, Hana-chan,” Bokuto says, patting the tank, and then he swings his feet onto the pedals and pushes off.

Surprisingly, they reach the Bokuto household unharmed. Half an hour standing on thin metal rods have left Akaashi’s joints locked up, and at Bokuto’s insistence, he gets down onto the bedroom floor to stretch while Bokuto transfers Hana to her new tank. 

Bokuto’s room is cleaner than he’d imagined it. This is not to say that it is clean; papers and food wrappers are scattered all over his desk, his trash can is overflowing, and a few stray shirts and notebooks lay on the floor. His windowsill is covered with a collection of small potted plants, some of which seem to have outgrown their containers. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Bokuto says, waving a hand as Akaashi arches over to touch his right foot. “Didn’t expect, uh, anyone to come over today.” 

Akaashi peeks through the gap in his arms and watches Bokuto turn back toward the tank, face flushed. 

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

Bokuto smiles a little, adjusting the water filter in the corner of the tank. “Hey, we should probably talk about, uh…”

Ah. So they are finally addressing the elephant in the room. 

“Yeah,” Akaashi says, getting to his feet. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Um. So.” Bokuto fiddles with the lid of the tank for a moment, then turns away. Hana floats serenely in her newer, larger tank. There is a certain elegance to her movements that only serves to widen the soft spot Akaashi is  _ not  _ starting to develop for her. “You, uh.”

Bokuto sighs, then kicks off his slippers and sits down on his futon, patting the space next to him. Akaashi sits down cross-legged. His knee rests lightly against Bokuto’s thigh.

“This is kind of awkward, isn’t it?” He says, huffing out a little laugh, and it hits Akaashi then that Bokuto is actually  _ nervous _ . He hadn’t thought that Bokuto really understood nerves. Certainly not regarding volleyball, at least. 

“I suppose so.” Akaashi smiles. “Did you know?”

“God, no.” Bokuto tilts his head sideways to look at him, and his bangs shift in accordance with gravity. Akaashi wants to push them back over his forehead the same way Bokuto had earlier. “Did you?”

“I...had my suspicions,” Akaashi says, smiling. “You have a very distinct way of talking, Bokuto-san.”

“Oh my _god,_ no,” Bokuto groans, hands coming up to cover his face. He peeks through his fingers, seemingly mortified. “I was literally texting _you_ about how nice your thighs look in volleyball shorts.”

Akaashi feels himself flush, and he looks down at his hands, picking absentmindedly at his nails. 

“I—I was literally calling you by your first name all this time, holy shit. This is so weird, you know? Like, you’re Akaashi, obviously, but you’re also Keiji? Like, it’s  _ you.  _ You’re Keiji. You know?”

Bokuto isn’t making any sense, but at the same time, Akaashi understands. He’d spent the entirety of yesterday evening in a similar state. 

“It kinda makes sense, though,” Bokuto says. “Even though you’re way more informal over text. I got this vibe from you when I first met you, y’know? This explains why, I guess. You’re Keiji.”

“And you’re my fish guy,” Akaashi says, smiling. “You know, you never did actually tell me your name.”

“I didn’t?”

“No. I’d been calling you Fish Man in my head for weeks.”

“Oh my  _ god.”  _ Bokuto flops backward onto his futon. “That’s even worse. I knew your name and you didn’t know mine?”

“My friend told me you were a telemarketer,” Akaashi says, laughing. 

“This is so embarrassing.” Bokuto runs a hand over his eyes. “You totally got the better deal out of this. You didn’t even text first!”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Really?” Bokuto lets his hand fall and looks him in the eye, and the sun catches  _ just  _ right on his eyelashes so that they split red and brown and gold. Akaashi feels breathless. 

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice is barely higher than a whisper.

Sunlight streams in through the wide window. Bokuto’s hair is spread out around his head, spilling onto the sheets. Akaashi wants to touch it.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says quietly, “you said you liked someone, the other day.”

“Did I?” He’s so close. It wouldn’t take much to reach just that little bit further.

“Yeah.”

Akaashi lets himself lean down, just a little. His fingers brush the thin sheet covering Bokuto’s futon. 

“It was kind of vague,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi feels his eyes on him. 

“Vaguer than deciding honorifics were sexy,” he says, and Bokuto huffs out a little embarrassed laugh. 

“I’m not wrong.”

Akaashi shrugs. His fingers are inches away from Bokuto’s hair; he’s surely noticed by now. 

“Keiji,” Bokuto whispers, and it’s so soft, so impossibly soft, it’s everything Akaashi had imagined and more. He’d never really given a second thought to his name before this. Bokuto’s voice is light as his name rolls off the tip of his tongue.

“Say it again,” Akaashi says, and his fingers find Bokuto’s hair. This, too, is soft; he runs his hand carefully through the thin strands until the ends slip through his fingertips. Bokuto watches him, mesmerized, turning closer. Akaashi is leaning over him, still sitting cross-legged. He moves his legs sideways so that he and Bokuto are on a more even level. 

“You definitely said you liked someone,” Bokuto says, breathless. 

“I might have,” he murmurs, running his fingernails over Bokuto’s scalp. Bokuto arches up into his touch. 

“Fuck,  _ Keiji,”  _ he sighs, eyes fluttering shut.

Akaashi kisses him. 

It’s short, closed-mouthed and sweet, barely more than a peck. He’s never kissed anyone before, but Bokuto is  _ right here  _ and he feels like he might explode, or implode, or  _ something  _ will happen if he doesn't take the chance. Bokuto’s lips are warm against his, and Akaashi’s hand is still in his hair. He pulls away after a quick moment. Bokuto’s eyes flutter open, and Akaashi feels his face burn red under his stare. He doesn’t look away. 

“Hey, Keiji,” Bokuto says, reaching for his other hand and slotting his fingers in between Akaashi’s. “You should do that again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Akaashi smiles when he feels Bokuto squeeze his hand. “Okay.”

But it’s Bokuto who leans in first, eyes closed. He kisses Akaashi so softly, so carefully, a distinct contrast from the way he plays volleyball. He is not a quiet person; and yet, he is so silent, so still.

“Hey, Keiji,” Bokuto says when they break apart, breath hot against Akaashi’s lips, “take care of Hana-chan with me.”

“Is this a marriage proposal?” Akaashi says dryly. “Take me on a few dates first, Bokuto-san. Do you even have a ring?”

“You can call me Koutarou, if you want.” Bokuto’s ears are red. “And of course I have a ring! A family one, you know! Don’t you have one?”

“No?”

Bokuto flails his arms. “I swear it’s not weird! It’s a normal thing! Don’t any of your other friends have family rings?” 

It’s cute, watching him get all flustered. Akaashi hadn’t thought it was possible for Bokuto to get more than a little embarrassed. “I don’t know, they’ve never asked me to marry them.”

“That’s not—”

Kissing, as it turns out, is a very effective way of shutting someone up. Bokuto talks a lot of shit on the court. Akaashi will find a way to utilize this newfound power for the good of the Fukurodani volleyball team. 

“Alright,” Akaashi says. “I can call you Koutarou. But not out in public.”

“What?” Bokuto pouts. “Why not?”

“It’d feel weird. Like I’d come to school in just my underwear or something.”

“You’re so weird, Keiji,” Bokuto says, grinning, and then he leans in to kiss him again. He’s smiling too widely to do it properly, but so is Akaashi. Their teeth clack together and it’s stupid and it’s cute and it’s so,  _ so  _ perfect. Bokuto’s arms come up around him, pull him down to the floor, and they feel so  _ right  _ against each other it makes Akaashi’s toes curl. 

The water filter bubbles behind them, and Akaashi thinks that it’s only a matter of time before he falls as hard for the fish as Bokuto had. It had only been a matter of time, after all, before Akaashi had fallen just as hard for Bokuto. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> epilogue: bokuto and akaashi get married at ages twenty-three and twenty-two, respectively. the fish is the ring bearer and co-best man, despite her neither having the capacity to hold rings nor being a male. kuroo holds the mic up to the portable fish tank and says, "hana-chan, what did you think about their relationship upon meeting them for the first time?" hana exhales several bubbles. the assembled guests begin to sob into their handkerchiefs. kuroo wipes a tear dramatically and hands the mic over.  
> "i've always hated that goddamn fish," akaashi says into the mic. the crowd gives a teary laugh; it's a perfect joke to lighten the mood.  
> akaashi is not joking.
> 
> thank you so much for reading! the past month and a half have been an incredible ride, and i'm incredibly thankful for the support i've gotten on this fic. your comments always make me smile :)
> 
> full disclosure: i have not owned a fish since i was in the first grade. my four guppies got sucked up the water filter a week in because they were too small for the tank. forgive me for any inaccuracies--i have never owned a flowerhorn cichlid before, though i did stare at them a lot whenever my family stopped by petsmart.
> 
> once again--thank you for your commitment to this fic! I hope you're having a good day :)


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